


Towels

by therapychicken



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Best friend goals, Gen, Marriage Proposal, Missing Scenes, Stevie is mostly just an expy of me at this stage, Stevie's POV, but I hope this is okay anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-03-08 10:19:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18892654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therapychicken/pseuds/therapychicken
Summary: Stevie's best friend is getting engaged to the love of his life. Why is she so happysad?





	1. Ring Rings

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this came from two sources:  
> 1) I firmly believe that there are not enough Stevie-centric stories here (let's be real, there aren't very many non-David/Patrick-centric stories in general)  
> 2) I am going through something in my life that bears great similarities to what Stevie goes through in the S5 finale, and I cried the whole time while watching it  
> This is my attempt to write a story with Stevie at the center while also trying to write through a lot of feelings that, to me, it seems obvious Stevie is having, because I'm having so many of the same ones. I'm telling you, the episode fucking NAILED it. It's probably at least somewhat indulgent self-therapeutic crap, but hopefully there's enough other stuff to make it fun to read.  
> Unusually for me, I have the first two chapters fully written, and two others half-written. There will be either four or five, as of now- I'm only publishing it in chapters because otherwise the whole thing will sit in development hell and I'll never publish anything at all. Hopefully this way I'll actually be motivated to revisit and resuscitate the rest of it.
> 
> Please let me know what you think in the comments!

Stevie wiped off enough sweat to fill a kiddie pool from her forehead and collapsed into Ronnie's desk chair, stretching out her legs with a massive groan. This dance routine was going to kill her someday. When Mrs Rose had showed up at her apartment to sell her on the role, she had  _not_ mentioned doing fucking  _cartwheels_. 

She could see Patrick across the room, mopping up what looked like even more sweat and panting slightly. He was humming the song under his breath, as though he was mentally running through the number one more time. Stevie grinned as she watched him concentrating with his brows furrowed, absentmindedly miming tossing bills in the air. Sometimes she could not believe that someone as normal and laid-back as Patrick was with  _David_ of all people, but then she saw Patrick like this and she kind of got it. He just had his own weird intensities.  

"So, Brewer, do you think we're going to get this done by the time the show opens?" she called at him across the room. "You were pretty okay this time, and I was only slightly in fear of my life during the big cartwheel. Decent improvement."

Patrick rolled his eyes. "Well, we're never going to get quite as good as Mrs Rose wants, we both know that," he said as he crossed the room toward Stevie. "I mean, I appreciate being pushed to my maximum and being the best that I can be and all that, but when the feedback I get during rehearsals is 'stand resolute like a steady sequoia, yet bend like an elm in a gentle zephyr,' there's just really not a whole lot I can do."

"Yeah, these practice sessions might be kicking my ass, but there is no way I'd be able to do this without them. Sitting behind a desk doing nothing all day is awesome but doesn't exactly build my upper body strength. Or lower body strength. Or really any body strength at all." 

Patrick snorted as he bent down into his bag and took out two water bottles. He tossed one at Stevie, which knocked over Ronnie's pencil cup and landline but Stevie felt proud that she managed to catch it before it rolled off into the wastebasket because she was seeing double at this point. She cracked open the cap. "Oh god," she realized, "I actually want to pour this over my head. This has never happened to me before." 

Patrick twisted his own cap open and the two of them feverishly gulped down water like they hadn't drunk it in a week, or, Stevie thought, like they'd just shed a bucketload of it via their skin trying not to embarrass themselves in this stupid number. Patrick put his bottle down on the desk. "I wonder how David's doing with Mrs Rose. We really owe him- last night he was telling me that she kept him over dinner trying to get him to guess off a color chart which shade of burgundy she had chosen for the backdrops, and then got offended when he guessed wrong."

"Fuck, yeah." Stevie always felt kind of guilty in these situations, because sometimes it genuinely felt like she was taking advantage of David. For someone as stubborn as David, he was really astonishingly easy to manipulate and cajole into doing things for people. If it hadn't been obvious before, then it had become very clear the moment that David had come running into the motel lobby a few weeks earlier to brag about the home run that he'd hit, because David would only do such a thing if Patrick was very persuasive. From what she could figure, on one level it was David being a people-pleaser, and it got too depressing when she started to think of why he would be like that, and on another level it was just David being a genuinely kind person. Both of those were, in this case, extremely convenient but also kind of shitty. She and Patrick were really going to have to make it up to him somehow. 

Patrick picked his water bottle back up with a grin and raised it in Stevie's direction, toasting, "To David, martyr to Cabaret!"

Stevie chuckled and toasted him right back. "To David!" she responded. "We're lucky to have him." She was about to drink when suddenly that phrasing just felt weird.  _We_ are lucky to have him? "I mean," she stumbled a bit, "you're lucky to have him. Or like, we each are in our own very specific ways, but mostly you. I don't know."

God, why was she talking like this? Patrick had been around already for two years, and he'd been with David for most of that time. And she'd been hanging out with them ever since that first meeting in the store when she'd gleefully watched Patrick flirt with David about fucking head lice. She'd basically pushed them together, for god's sake. They'd had sex in her bed, probably, which she should really stop thinking about on an empty stomach. And just now she was getting weird about it?  

And yeah, Patrick was kind of looking at her like she'd grown a third arm. "We both are lucky to have him, yeah. In our own ways, but definitely both of us. He's obviously really important to you, just like you are to him. You know that." She nearly felt stupid for sounding so needy and doubtful but then she saw something in Patrick's eyes behind his smile, that could have been pity maybe, and she just got kind of ticked off. She nodded and took a long swig from her water bottle to deflect from all these feelings. God, she really needed that hydration. 

Maybe it was just that they were getting more serious lately. Meeting each other's parents, talking about the future, practically moving in together... Damn it. That shouldn't have mattered. It wasn't worth thinking about. She and David would always be friends, as well as she and Patrick, and they'd keep on in their little Rose Apothecary coffee klatches (which she definitely agreed with David would be much better with that new espresso machine he kept bugging Patrick about getting) and front desk chats and Elmdale getaways. She was way overreacting. 

She'd been staring into space for a bit and had barely noticed Patrick moving closer to her, holding something dark and rectangular in his hand. That look from before was still in his eyes, and she didn't really think it looked like pity anymore, but she couldn't really tell what it was. He sat down on Ronnie's desk next to her, and placed the object- a jewelry box- down next to him. She glanced at it, and then looked at him quizzically. What was going on?

"What's this? A new bracelet for David? Oh, wait- is this some kind of thank you gift for him, for running interference for us for the dance rehearsals? Do you want me to buy in? Because I warn you, if this thing cost more than a hundred bucks then I'm not good for more than fifty of it." 

Patrick still had that weird look on his face as he smiled and said, "no, it's not a bracelet, and you don't have to buy into it. This is just from me, I just wanted your opinion on it before I, um, give it to him." 

 That was funny, because the box definitely looked like a bracelet box, but whatever, Stevie would never exactly call herself a jewelry connoisseur. The only jewelry she'd worn in the last ten years were six clip-on earrings on one ear for her Uncle Dwayne's funeral, because if Aunt Deirdre was going to be a bitch to her then she'd give her something to be a bitch about. Curiously, she picked up the box and popped it open with her thumb, noticing through the corner of her eye that Patrick seemed almost to be holding his breath. 

Inside the box were four gold rings. Stevie stared at them in shock, feeling like her brain had stopped working.

"These are rings," she said flatly. 

Stevie could feel Patrick shifting a bit on the desk in front of her as she stared blankly at those rings. Exactly like the ones David wore on his right hand every day, just in gold, not silver. "Yes," Patrick responded. "I got him rings."

Suddenly she could feel her brain put two and two together and come up with about seven hundred fifty million. Holy shit. _Holy shit._ "Are these...  _ring_ rings?" she asked slowly. 

"Yes," she could hear Patrick respond in a voice that would have been subtly sardonic if it hadn't been so drenched in nerves. "These are very definitely ring rings." 

She finally tore her eyes off of those amazing insane rings and looked at Patrick's face and in his eyes she saw that expression and it was just pure nervousness, that's what it was. He was nervous about what she was going to say about the fact that he was going to propose to her best friend. 

Oh my god. 

"Oh my god, Patrick, you look like you're freaking out, and you shouldn't because David is DEFINITELY going to say yes. I mean, oh my god! You guys are getting married!" Her voice was coming out a bit louder than she'd meant, and there had been a tiny high-pitched shriek at the end that mortified her to her core, but Patrick was starting to breathe a bit more regularly now and the stiffness in his shoulders was relaxing, and his cheeks were turning faintly pink, and so this was all fine. "This is amazing, Patrick! And he's going to LOVE these rings. Oh my god, you guys are getting married, this is amazing."

Stevie collapsed back into her chair. David and Patrick were going to be getting married. David was going to get married. He finally found this person who saw him and made him happy and put him first and loved him and that person wanted to marry him and it was the best thing. David had spent way too long being mistreated and ignored and miserable for it not to be so fucking OBVIOUS that he deserved every second of all of the happiness that was going to come with those rings and that relieved-looking guy sitting across from her. She was so happy for him. She felt like she wanted to throw up. 

That wasn't right. She shook her head a bit to clear up whatever- that- was and looked back up at Patrick. "I can't believe you're doing this. When do you plan on asking him?"

And suddenly Patrick looked nervous again, but it was okay, it was the kind of intense nervous when he was planning something really big that had to come out perfect, the kind that he'd had just before when he was practicing the dance, so it was familiar territory. "I'm not sure," he said slowly, "I was thinking sometime in the next couple of weeks? It's annoying because so much depends on the weather." 

"Wait, you're proposing to him outside?" Stevie couldn't imagine a situation in which David would find the outdoors at all a sanitary or romantic place to be proposed to, but hey, Patrick was the one marrying him. She shrugged. "Ah, well, okay. It's your funeral. Or, I guess, your wedding. I mean, your proposal. Jesus, I don't even know what I'm saying anymore, but you get the idea."

She shot another glance over at Patrick as she got up from her chair, and he just had this dazed look, like he'd been punched in the face with happiness or something. "Yeah, we're going to have a wedding," he said to himself in wonder. "We're getting married. I get to marry him." Stevie gave him a tight smile, all the better not to show the massive grin or the choked sob or whatever else would have come out otherwise in response to the effervescent happiness that was radiating from Patrick. 

Instead she took a few seconds- to set the tone- and then kneeled slightly so that her face and his were right up against each other, so that she was right up in his personal space, and she said with as much quiet threat as she could muster against a guy as cuddly as Patrick, "David deserves to be happy. He  _needs_ this and he _wants_ this and it has to happen for him. Up til now you've been the person who's made him happier than he's ever been, and don't you fucking dare stop now." 

Patrick stared back at her wide-eyed, and Stevie suddenly realized that perhaps she had gone a tiny bit overboard just then, and quickly took a few steps back, picking up her bag and getting ready to high-tail it out of town hall. She mentally steeled herself for Patrick to laugh and play it off as a joke, or to ask her what the fuck that had just been about, but suddenly Patrick's smile twisted- kind of like David's old half-smiles, with a tiny bit of sadness inside. "You know I won't, Stevie. You know I'm going to make him as happy as I possibly can for the rest of our lives. So- just to say- thank you for being such an amazing friend, to David and to me, and thank you for your blessing. It really means a lot." 

And suddenly a tear or two was fighting to escape from the corners of Stevie's eyes and she quickly turned away. She hadn't had to pretend not to cry in a while, so she had to scramble for one of her old tricks, and she decided to pretend to blow her nose instead. She dug into her pockets for a tissue as she said, a bit too thickly, "You don't need my blessing." 

She could hear Patrick slide off the desk and walk around her to face her. His face looked completely sincere as he said, "Yes, I think I do." There was maybe a bit of pity in there as well, a smile that was almost sad, but she wasn't at the stage where she could bring herself to care. Patrick's arms reached around her to hug her, and she allowed herself to stay in his grip for a couple of seconds, breathing deeply and surreptitiously wiping her eyes on his tee shirt.

Then she wriggled her way out of the hug, and ran her way out of the building.

 


	2. Egyptian Cotton

What do you buy for the guy who doesn't have everything, but what he does have he likes to pick out himself?

Stevie had been walking down the main shopping strip in Elmdale for nearly an hour, trying to decide what kind of a gift one buys for one's best friend for his engagement when said best friend has a massive disdain for one's sense of style. Lavender-scented small-batch artisan-made soap on a hand-woven rope, she supposed. Probably something that David and Patrick actually sold- shame she couldn't exactly buy him an engagement gift from his own store. And not just because that would entail her actually paying for the stuff she walked out with a few times a week. 

This gift had to be fucking perfect. She was his best friend and he deserved a really great gift from his best friend. It had to be something he'd actually enjoy that meant something without being sappy and was high quality and tasteful and perfect. She kind of wished that she was the kind of person who could just make him a scrapbook of their photos and selfies, but that would entail her being a horrifyingly sentimental person and also them being the kind of people who had a lot of photos and selfies. 

Something- SOMETHING- here would have to do. 

Thus far the only thing that had seemed right had been something from that cookie bakery that David liked so much, because food and appreciation of it in all of its unhealthiest forms was basically the only matter of taste on which both she and David thoroughly agreed. But she didn't want to get him a present that he would just eat. With Patrick, probably. And then it would be gone and eventually crapped into the toilet. 

She quickly shook her head. Nope, she'd be getting something long-lasting and durable, thanks. That David would see every fucking day and remember that he used to know someone named Stevie a while back, or something. 

She walked past a jewelry store and poked her head in. The saleswoman barely even looked in her direction, accurately sniffing out Stevie's near-empty wallet and minimums-paying credit card. Stevie looked around strategically, avoiding any case that looked like it was sparkling too much, because she hadn't been lying to Patrick, she really could only afford about fifty bucks worth of sparkle. 

She stopped in front of a small case in a corner with a few relatively plain pieces, which looked like they might not be that expensive. She saw a couple of pairs of cuff links, which made her snort quietly. She saw some earrings, and had to stop for a second to try to think of whether David might have pierced ears that she hadn't noticed. It was the kind of thing where either he was disgusted the idea or had had all of his cartilage pierced in high school, or possibly a combination of the two. 

Then she stopped short. There, in the case, was David's bracelet. Despite her complete lack of affinity for jewelry, she knew it immediately- she'd seen David wear it so many times ever since Patrick had given it to him as an olive branch. Patrick must have bought it here, that miserable week when he'd been begging David to come back and David had been wallowing in bed and gorging himself on free-to-him chocolates.It was a nice bracelet, and she'd always loved seeing it as a symbol of David and Patrick being back together, and as a convenient trigger to tease David about his gift-grifting tendencies. 

But now it just made her realize that she could not buy David jewelry. What had she been thinking. Way too- too intimate, was what it was. Not her place, not the right kind of gift. David had Patrick to give him jewelry. 

She turned and ran out of the store, and the saleswoman didn't even flinch. Well, there was another option down. 

She sat on a bench, gritting her teeth and her head in her hands. She needed to find something fucking perfect. Something that would show David how happy she was for him, how important he was to her, how much their friendship meant, how happy she was that he was happy. Something that was them. 

As she lifted her head to look for the nearest pizza place so that she could stuff her face with a couple dozen comforting garlic knots, she noticed, across the street, the housewares store that she bought stuff from for the motel. It reminded her that she needed to buy some replacement sheets after that honeymooning couple had been extraordinarily disgusting. With a sigh, she got up and started to walk across the street, half-heartedly looking at the window display of sheets and towels.

Oh man. That could actually work. 

She walked into the store and gave a chilly smile to the lady behind the desk. "You monogram towels, right?"

The lady gave her a bright but confused grin. "Hey, Stevie! You want to upgrade the motel towels a bit? I'll just get you a bunch of the same ones you already use and monogram them for you, how does that sound." She started to take out an order form from under the desk when she startled a bit at Stevie's extremely loud guffaw.

"Ha, no thanks, I'm going to need something a TINY bit nicer than the crap I usually buy. Do you have- I think it's called something ridiculous like Egyptian cotton...?"


	3. Uncomplicatedly Happy

David and Stevie sat on the couch in the motel lobby, pretending to be watching the nightly Friends marathon on the dingy TV but actually mostly just paying attention to their alcoholic beverages. Stevie was on her second beer, and had the rest of the six-pack waiting on the floor; David was drinking Prosecco straight from the bottle. Stevie was mildly tempted to text Patrick a picture of David with the bottle to his lips, as though to taunt, you're all alone tonight because David's been making time to hang with me. It was a weekly thing they did- Patrick stayed home and watched all his sports games that he'd DVRed that week, David came over to hang with Stevie at the motel, where they generally sat on the couch and ignored each other companionably as they drank, or sometimes smoked weed. It was nice.

As Stevie finished her second can, she tossed it vaguely in the direction of the trash can and groaned dramatically as it landed eight feet away next to the desk. David chuckled expansively, far louder than he would normally, and it was obvious to Stevie that he was starting to get a buzz.

A thought popped into her head, and she turned on the couch, facing David and wrapping her arms around her folded legs like she was rolling herself into a protective ball. Like an armadillo, or whatever. "David, are you and Patrick planning on leaving Schitt's Creek?" 

And apparently David wasn't the only one losing some key inhibitions right now. Jesus.

David turned to her quizzically. "Um, no, why would we? Has someone sold the town? If my family is still here, or at least if my mom is still here, then that means we still haven't sold the town. Why else would I leave?" 

"Ah, David," Stevie started hesitantly, fueled almost exclusively by the third can of beer that she had just taken a sip from, "you and Patrick are in it for the long run, right?"

David stared at her. "Yes, of course we are." He barely even flinched as he said it, as though this was just a normal thing that he didn't think much about because it was so obvious, but Stevie could see his cheeks lightly flush. It was thrilling and excruciating.

"Well then, in that case, Patrick is your family now. You guys are your own little family. You have a thriving business, and you could move anywhere in the world and open a new branch with that business model, and live with Patrick somewhere with art galleries and artisan delis and a major league sports team and maybe even, maybe even cherry blossoms. I don't know. So why don't you?"

Stevie watched as David froze a bit, and a small smile- not one of his sideways smirks, a real smile- grew on his face. He said, "yes, I guess you're right. It's a good thing about being an- an adult, I guess, that you get to choose your own family, not just deal with the ones who popped you from their vaginas, right? The partners and friends who make you happy and who you want to make happy. I like to think that I chose well." He gave her a smile that Stevie would describe as "booze-induced fondness." It was sweet actually, even if she felt a bit stabbed in the heart. 

"First of all, how many people have popped you out of their vaginas exactly? Second of all, please don't answer that, we've drunk enough that you'd try to be funny and just end up embarrassing yourself. Third of all, um, oh, third of all, yeah, you did choose well. Patrick is great for you and it's so great to see you two building this family of choice, you know?" He knew, but he didn't really know anything, and the pressure of her knowing exactly what steps Patrick was preparing to take to make the Rose-Brewer family official felt like it was going to burst out of her chest. 

Fuck, she was buzzed. 

David looked like he was about to say something as he shot her a look that seemed almost quizzical, like he was going to ask her a question or correct her or something, but then his expression went blank and searching, as though he'd lost the plot a bit. Suddenly he brightened. "You were asking whether- whether Patrick and I are staying! And yeah, I don't think we're planning on going anywhere. We're both happy here. This is really kind of the first place I've ever been happy, except for, except for the first time I went to Fashion Week in Milan. The second time sucked, though, my date decided halfway through that it would be really hot if the two of us had a contest to see who could seduce the most models, which was not a game that I wanted particularly to be playing." He shook his head a bit as though to clear away fog, and continued, "Well, anyway, this is the first place where I've been really happy, for the medium long term, and the people I love are all here, and yeah, there's nothing possibly better for me out there than what I have here."     

Stevie didn't think she'd ever seen David ramble like this, matter-of-fact about his satisfaction, fully happy in himself. That memory of his past hadn't even made him frown, let alone retreat into himself or doubt his present good fortune, as it might have still quite recently. David seemed- uncomplicatedly happy. It was weird for Stevie, because to her, David was always that same bitter, frustrated, complex guy who had yelled at her for not dropping off towels years ago and who'd agreed to go fucking turkey hunting because he felt like he had some bizarre thing to prove. This David didn't have anything to prove. Her relationship with David had never felt consciously like it was shifting, but she had never felt such a clear divide between the two of them. David was uncomplicatedly happy, romantic, blissful even; Stevie wasn't any of those things, and wasn't sure she'd ever even want to be. 

And now David was staring at Stevie. "Wait," he said, "what about you? You're staying, right?" Suddenly he looked so concerned, and Stevie could see the booze behind that open, worried expression. 

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, sure, I'm staying. I've got the motel to run. Those jizz-stained sheets aren't going to wash themselves, you know." 

"First of all, ew, gross. Thanks so much for that. Second of all, you have my dad now. He's a disaster, but he's kind of a... contained disaster? And he weirdly seems to like being Mr Motel Guy. Yesterday he cleaned the gutters himself and he took us all out to dinner to celebrate. At the Cafe Tropical, so on balance, I kind of wish that he'd just had Roland do the gutters. Anyway, he seems to be doing just fine. You can leave whenever you want." 

"I mean, if I leave, maybe your dad will stay, but the moment your mom goes so will he. And then what do I do, leave Roland in charge? Roland's been in charge of this town for 25 years and just look at the state of this dump."  

"Fuck off. You know what you're doing now, Stevie Middle Name Budd? You are making excuses. You can go wherever you want. And you will. And you'll kick ass. You don't- you don't have to stay any more than I do. So what are you going to do?" 

Stevie looked again into David's wide-open eyes, pupils dilated, and had enough. "I can't talk to you about this," she declared, as she turned away determinedly to grab a fourth beer. "I can't. Not to you." 

"Excuse you, I thought I was your best friend!" Stevie couldn't figure out whether David was genuinely affronted, putting on a show, or just extremely sloshed, but he'd fucking folded his arms in front of him. "I thought you talk to me about things! Sometimes! Or, like, occasionally, but if you do talk about stuff it is to me! Thank you for this truly wonderful vote of confidence in me as a person and a friend and I'm going to sulk into another bottle of that lovely Prosecco." And he honest to god huffed as he reached over the couch arm for another wine bottle. 

Stevie watched him as he pulled the cork out and took a long swig. Jesus, it wasn't his fault, not really. Except that it totally was. "It's nothing about you," she started, and David's eyes swiveled back in her direction as he drank. "It's just that-" and she was having trouble continuing, because something was blocking up her throat, and she didn't know what, so she took another gulp of beer to dislodge it. She couldn't be crying. She'd never been a weepy drunk. 

David turned his head back in her direction and put the wine bottle between his knees as he settled in to look at her. There was something a little softer in his still very inebriated eyes now. "It's just that what?" he asked quietly. 

"It's just that- you're too happy." And there it was, that was the problem that had been poking its head inconveniently into basically every one of their interactions since Patrick had showed her that stupid stupid box, and probably before that just she hadn't realized, and she wished she still didn't realize because this was humiliating and it was fucking with the only good thing she still had. "You're too happy, and I'm happy you're happy, and I want you to be happy, but I want to be that happy too, but I'm not, so I can't talk to you right now. And I feel like a jerk. I mean, I am a jerk, but now I feel like a different kind of jerk, not talking to you because you're fucking happy. A worse jerk. A jerkier jerky jerkface." 

Damn, there was a tear leaking out of the corner of her eye, and maybe she was a weepy drunk now, maybe that's what all of this was doing to her. It was so embarrassing, and it didn't help that David was giving her maybe the softest look she'd ever seen from him in her direction. She'd seen him be soft loads before, at Patrick, but this wasn't the kind of soft look he gave Patrick- it was the kind that he'd given Alexis occasionally a year ago, during that whole terrible will-they-won't-they situation with Ted, and mostly he'd given it to her when she hadn't been looking. Lucky Alexis, not looking- being on the receiving end of it and being able to see felt like shit. 

"Okay," David said, quietly again. And this was all just weird, because David was a loud unbridled fun drunk, he wasn't supposed to be quiet or to look at her fondly or sadly. He wasn't supposed to be sad at all, he was supposed to be happy, he was going to be getting engaged, even if he didn't know it yet. Goddamnit. "Okay," David repeated, "don't talk to me about it. Find someone sad to talk to. And then soon you'll be so happy, I promise, because you're the best person in the world and you deserve it. Now let's watch this fucking show, it's the one with the penis cake, I think." 

And this wasn't exactly what she'd wanted to hear, but she was always ready to sniff back those few bastard tears that had been welling up, lean on David's shoulder, gulp down the rest of her current beer, consign the whole fucking conversation to boozy fog in the morning, and watch Rachel freak out about the penis cake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penis cake episode is the only episode of Friends I have ever seen. It was in my orthopedist's waiting room.  
> I'm not super thrilled with this chapter- I may go back and fix it up a bit- but I kind of felt like I needed to power through it a bit so I could keep going.


	4. Nightmares

 It had been a long and shitty day in which Mrs Rose had decided that her star chanteuse required some solo work in order to develop her as a truly emotive artiste, which was basically exactly as bad as that had sounded. 

Luckily, as the owner of her own small business there was nobody to report her for drinking while on shift, so as she waited for Kathleen Jones and her hopefully crated yorkiepoo to arrive and check in, she was going to unwind, dammit. 

Stevie turned the TV on at random, and Jesus, it was fucking Frasier. She cracked open her beer can and took a long swallow as she shimmied her way into the couch cushions. 

Frasier and Niles were in the coffee shop, because of course they were, sitting in the outside seats and Niles was asking Frasier in that clipped voice, "are you happy?" Are you happy, like that was a normal question that people actually fucking asked other people. Fuck Frasier and fuck Niles. 

And honestly, when it came down to it, fuck David. 

Her phone buzzed, and sure enough, guess who it fucking was. 

**So what are the big plans for this evening that were so much more important than skin testing stage makeup?**

**My mom says that it's not her problem if you get a massive red staph rash all over your face on opening night**

**Except trust me, it will be her problem**

**And then mine**

**But also yours, because we borrowed a lot of this makeup from Gwen which makes me REALLY nervous about where it's been**

**So what's up**

**???**

Stevie made an executive decision to ignore the texts and her eyes returned to the TV screen. Niles was talking about a Great Depression documentary he'd seen with a little boy who was happy about getting a new pair of shoes, and Niles was saying that the boy had "a look of pure and utter happiness. I have never experienced that kind of happiness, not in my whole life." Stevie took another gulp of beer, because suddenly she could see David, the first day they'd met, and could practically hear those words coming out of his mouth. Except they never would have, because David hadn't realized how unhappy he was, not really. He'd known he was upset, he'd known that he was distraught, but not that he was deeply, deeply unhappy, and had been for a very long time. Her heart ached to remember the David of four years ago. Thank fuck he wasn't like that anymore, and what the hell was going on that she was getting emotional from Frasier?! 

Great, and now there was another joke about how much of a whore Roz is. Much better; this she could work with. 

She looked back at her phone and noticed that David hadn't stopped after the question marks. 

**Wait, why aren't you replying**

**What are you doing**

**Is whatever TV you're watching more important than me**

**Hang on are you watching Queer Eye without me**

**I told you to wait for me before watching that**

**How could you do this to me**

**Fuck you Stevie**

**And have a pleasant evening**

Well, that was that, wasn't it. God had sent a sign from on high, that David was right. She needed to find other unhappy people, which shouldn't be too difficult in this hellhole of a town. 

She texted David a quick "best wishes" and glanced back at the screen, where Frasier was making a joke about Niles being gay. She immediately scrolled down the channels, sighing with relief when the TV landed on Gordon Ramsay shouting at someone. Now this was TV.  

As she watched Ramsay screaming about the graininess of a middle aged woman's custard an hour later, it occurred to her that she'd been glancing at her phone every few minutes. Well. David didn't always text back "warmest regards." He was probably busy with something, living as he did with Patrick. Probably washing dishes, or vacuuming, or one of those other household chores that he kept bitching about. Though actually he was probably having sex with Patrick, or something else nice and domestic and practically-fiance. Ew. Or maybe the two of them were curled up on their couch, also watching Kitchen Nightmares, David leaning on Patrick so that his hair was tickling Patrick's nose, Patrick's arms around him as they watched Ramsay cursing at someone. 

 Somehow, that was the worst option. No, David was definitely trying and failing to fold a fitted sheet right now. Always reliable for a laugh. She held on to that thought as another hopeful restaurateur placed a plate of lasagna in front of Ramsay, confident that THIS time he would love it. 

 

It was probably a good idea to start with the low-hanging fruit, someone who had to be so unhappy that she might not even realize how unhappy she was. Stevie walked into the cafe and, with a deep sense of foreboding, took a seat on one of the barstools, directly in front of where Twyla was determinedly scrubbing at a spot on the counter that looked like animal puke. Twyla looked up in surprise, and then smiled. "Stevie!" she exclaimed, with an obvious warmth that made Stevie's hair stand on end, "wow, I don't remember the last time I saw you in here!"

"Um, yeah, I have no idea why, your food is always so unique," said Stevie with as little emotion she could muster. "I'd remembered how amazing your, um, chocolate-cherry milkshake was last time I was here and I was just thinking, I can't go another second without having one of those." She had been racking her brains the whole walk over trying to remember something from this godforsaken establishment she'd actually enjoyed at one point. This probably wouldn't actively make her vomit, if she was remembering correctly. 

Twyla's eyes lit up. "Great! I think we may be out of cherries for that, but I'm pretty sure I have a nice jar of grape jelly that will basically be exactly the same. I'll go get that for you now." And Twyla was off with a flash, with the blender whirring before Stevie could do much more than open her mouth to yell at Twyla to stop before such a travesty was committed. 

A horrifically short amount of time later, Twyla was sidling up in front of her on the other side of the bar, placing the milkshake- with, for some reason, a cocktail umbrella sticking out the top- in front of Stevie with a beatific smile. "Drink up! It's much tangier when it's cold."

Jesus H Christ, she'd never felt so much like the very word  _tangy_ would make her want to Texas Chainsaw Massacre this whole fucking town. She obediently put her mouth on the straw and gingerly sucked, very carefully making sure that none of the milkshake made it anywhere near her actual mouth. She gave what was probably a ghoulish grin. "Mmm, mmm! I think it's a little too....  _tangy_ for me right now. I'll let it sit for a while."

Twyla nodded obligingly and seemed to be about to walk away toward the kitchen when Stevie suddenly remembered why she'd even come to this hellhole in the first place. "Twyla," she called after her, and Twyla turned around and gave her an inquisitive look. "Twyla, are you happy?"

Twyla's face barely changed in its helpful earnestness. "Wow," she said, and Stevie could kind of see a flicker of something that seemed like sadness in the corner of her mouth, the way that David sometimes had. "Wow, nobody's asked me if I'm happy in a long time." Her eyes seemed to go off into the middle distance for a second. So Twyla wasn't happy. Stevie almost felt bad as her heart jumped at the realization, but hey, all it meant was that there was someone else, and she and Twyla would talk about their man issues, and trade hot gossip, and get twin mani-pedis and facials, and....

"Yeah," Twyla was continuing, "the last person who asked me was my fourth step-dad, and we all know that he was only after one thing. Not that he was ever going to get it, not after I got really good with nunchucks." She shook her head a few times and gave Stevie a small smile. "So why do you ask?"

No. No no no no no. This was why she didn't.... This was not going to be happening. Goddamned Twyla. No no no. 

Stevie frantically cast her mind around for something, anything, to say in the face of Twyla's inquisitive yet blank grin. "Oh, um," and she finally found something, "I just figured it's nice to go around and ask people if they're happy. I figured it's a nice thing to ask people. Don't you, um, think so?"

Twyla's face split open in a massive smile. "Yes, of course! Wow, Stevie, this isn't at all like you- I'm so glad to see you embracing the happiness of others!" Stevie tried to gauge how guilty she'd feel if she punched Twyla in the face and discovered it was only marginal, but she saw that Twyla was now turning toward the opening cafe door. "Roland! Jocelyn! Stevie was just asking- are you happy?"

"Oh my god, yes!" Jocelyn said excitedly as she headed toward Stevie. "I just found out that Cassie has agreed to take it slow with Colton! And after she'd dumped him like that and made him jump that fence in Portugal!"

 Well, fuck this. Back to the drawing board. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I love Frasier, I just know that Stevie absolutely wouldn't. 
> 
> Sorry about the delay here- I've had most of this in draft form for a while (if it gives any indication, the Bachelorette reference was current when I wrote it...) but due to a lot of life circumstances, I literally forgot I was writing this thing at all. Hopefully I'll get back to it and my other WIP now. I just wanted to publish something quickly to get me back in the game. It's really more of a postscript to the previous chapter, if anything.


End file.
